


Well Trained

by Missy



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Bad Flirting, Dog training, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Matchmaking, Pet Ownership - Freeform, Phone Calls & Telephones, Trick or Treat: Treat, Work/Life Balance, walks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Damien thinks he's doing a good job trying to balance his work at the shelter, his rich love of the gothic world, his day job and parenting Lucien.  But Mary knows him too well.  Which is why she suggests Damien spend more time with Robert.Robert thinks he's handling his adoption of Betsy perfectly well.  But Mary knows him too well.  Which is why when Betsy takes to escaping from his backyard for romps through the cul de sac she convinces Robert to turn to Damien for help...





	Well Trained

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Piscaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/gifts).



Damien’s first glimpse of Robert since his welcome-to-the-cul-de-sac barbecue was less than auspicious. Not that encountering a tall, ruggedly handsome man at five in the morning while he was yelling on Damien’s front lawn in a pair of too-tight boxer shorts could have been seemly in any way.

Before Lucien could be woken by the cacophony, Damien donned his best robe, only to hear Robert yelling, “Betsy! Come on, girl! Where the hell didja go!?”

“Robert!” Damien peered out his own front door, keeping his robed shoulders tastefully hidden behind the frame of the door. “Though I do hope you find Betsy soon, please keep down your voice! My son’s still asleep!”

“Sorry,” he said – and well, his voice _was_ softer, though the gruff tone made goosebumps form on Damien’s spine. “I’m really worried about her. I let her out to take her morning number two and then she got through a hole in my backyard fence…” A yapping sound, followed by the ambling, inky form of the tiny boxer running towards Robert, cut off their conversation. “BETSY!” He scooped her up and cuddled her against his chest; she lapped at his chin. “You have to quit scaring me like that, girl!”

“Hello, Betsy,” Damien whispered, waving toward her. She yapped, her tongue emerging from her mouth in a gesture of joy. “Um, Robert…perhaps you should go back to your home and get yourself dressed before Craig comes by on his jog.”

“Oh yeah, good idea. Thanks, Damien.”

“You’re welcome,” Damien said, and watched Robert tromp carefully around his freshly-planted mourning brides.

 

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“So you have the heaving sighs for Robert?” Mary, bless her soul, always knew how to cut right to the chase.

Damien nudged his glasses up his nose and flicked his ponytail behind his shoulder; he’d come to the café to have coffee with her off of his volunteer shift and wasn't in the mood to be interrogated. “Mary! I wouldn’t speak with such impropriety in regard to mister Small. I barely know him.”

“But you want to know him,” she pointed out. “And he is having problems keeping Betsy on leash and out of trouble.”

“Well, yes…”

Mary said, “and you are one of the best helpers the shelter has. You could train a dog with one hand tied behind your back. Which he might be into.”

Damien coughed. “Well…yes.”

“And you DO need to spend more time with other people! You’re turning into such a workaholic!”

“It’s not workaholism to be charitable,” he pointed out.

“No, but you’re smothering Lucien.”

“I WISH that he wanted to be smothered,” Damien sighed. “He’s grown to be so independent and rebellious.”

Mary poked his shoulder. “Get a life of your own, sweetie. You’re going to need it soon.”

Damien sighed. “I suppose…I could leave a message on his machine,” he grumbled, and took out his phone.

 

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The next morning when Mary called him instead of saying hello, Robert answered the phone with, “ I don’t believe you set me up on a play date.”

Mary laughed, over the sound of children vaguely mumbling in the background. “Robert, I pushed you toward a cute guy. You want to spend more time with cute guys, don’t you?”

“Can’t say I‘d ever turn that down. But Damien? He’s a nice guy, but I’m not sure he isn’t one of _them._ ”

Mary snorted. “He’s not a vampire. Or an alien. Or a reverse – swamp monster. Betsy needs extra training, besides. Didn’t she end up eating a whole tin of muffins Mat left cooling on his windowsill last night?”

“Well, yeah…”

“And didn’t she chew up Hugo’s favorite suit?’”

“Yeah, but anyway - you can never be too safe…”

“Robert, you haven’t been out on a real date for four years – and I don’t mean screwing around, I mean a real date. It’s about time you had a little fun that doesn’t involve kicking out well meaning twerps in the morning.”

“Thanks for looking out for me, Mar.”

She gently rolled the stem of her martini glass between her index and forefingers. “At least one of us deserves to be happy,” she said, and downed the remnants. 

 

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Damien was a hair nervous when he stepped over the threshold of Robert’s house. Betsy immediately trundled up to him, sitting down with a thump upon the tips of his toes and demanding a petting.

It was incredibly adorable and bad pet etiquette, at the same time. He bent, scratched her behind the ears and straightened up just in time to see Robert’s eyes bounce from Damien’s behind to his face. 

Well. It was nice to be appreciated, but Damien was blushing from ear to throat. “Does Miss Betsy have a leash?”

Robert held it out. “She’s good on a leash, it’s the off-leash stuff she has a problem with.”

“Her impulse control might be a hair low,” suggested Damien. “It’s common with breeds like hers.” He made a soft clicking sound with the tip of his tongue and gently urged her to sit once more, sliding the leash along Robert’s palms before clipping it onto her collar. 

“Let’s take a walk and see if she obeys ‘heel’.”

Betsy eagerly stuck to Damien’s side when the word escaped his lips, and he chuckled. 

 

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They walked in a close unit up and down the block, trading bits of information about their jobs. Robert was tight-lipped about his daughter so Damien didn’t pry – and became effusive about Lucien in response. Then Betsy caught wind of something and gave a mighty tug to her side of the leash.

“Betsy, sit! Heel! STOP!” Damien demanded, as she danced on the end of the line like an angry mummer. She slipped her collar and he and Robert were running, hand in hand (how had that happened?!) right on her trail. 

She’d rounded the block and was headed for a busy street when Robert started yelling.

“Betsy! HEEL!” Robert shouted, and all at once her round bottom came to a complete stop. She sat, expectantly, two inches from a congested intersection. 

Damien heaved a huge sigh of relief. A donut truck rolled by two seconds later, piping the scent of hot baked goods into the cul de sac.

Robert clipped his leash back onto her collar, then scratched her ear. “My girl doesn’t obey the man’s rules and I can respect that – but she’s gotta obey mine or she's gonna get hurt.”

Damien re-arranged his hair behind his ears and caught his breath. “Well, as unruly as this incident was, we’ve learned something valuable from it – she’s quite food motivated. We can use that to train her - intensive training. Which would require us to spend more time together….”

Robert gave him a crooked grin. “I’d like that.”

“Really?” Damien asked.

“Definitely. You’re a lot of fun to be around. No one else has laughed at my Jersey Devil jokes in ten years.” Robert said. “And I guess Mar is right. I could use a little more time out. So. How do you feel about Friday night?”

“Friday?” Damien’s mind searched for a reason to stay behind. Would Lucien want him? Could he comfortably spend time away from the house without anything happening?

 

Robert said, “sure. A movie and dinner. I’ll even comb my hair.”

 

“Yes. Why that would be lovely.”

 

“Uh…” he let go of Damien’s hand. “Thanks. Me and Betsy are gonna be going…”

“Oh, very well!” Damien said. “I have a raspberry cordial at home that’s simply screaming my name.”

“Play your cards right and that’s not the only thing that’s going to be screaming it.”

Damien’s neck turned red again, rubbing the back of his own exposed neck and heading east to home as Robert headed off into the sunset whistling, one hand in his pocket, Betsy trotting happily along at his heel.

**Author's Note:**

> Mourning brides are indeed a type of flower! They used to be popular at funerals.


End file.
